Savage Retribution

by Lexxie Couper

  He sat up, holding her still with his arms, his own fingers burying into the cool strands of hair at her nape, arching her neck so his lips and teeth devoured the satiny-smooth skin.

  “Declan,” she moaned his name again, wrapping her legs around his hips, her heels pressing against his ass cheeks, forcing him closer to her, deeper into her. “Don't stop.”

  “Never,” he replied. How could he? He wouldn’t know he was alive if he didn’t feel her, smell her. Hold her.

  Thrusting deeper, he captured her lips with his, fierce and hungry. A sound escaped her—a whimper, a hitching of her breath telling him without words she was there, ready to fall and explode and implode. “Yes, Declan. Yes!” she moaned. “Oh, God, YES!” Her fingers dragged across his shoulders and into his hair once more, holding his head still as her hips began to buck. Wild. Erratic. Powerful. He felt the pulses rocking through her. Clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing. Charging him with life.

  It consumed him, surged through him. Erupted from him in a violent, liquid force, scalding him from head to toe and making him howl.

  He collapsed backward, Regan coming with him, lying along his chest, her heart hammering against his, her ragged breath fanning his sweat-slicked skin.

  Closing his eyes, he listened to her heartbeat slowly return to normal, letting his fingertips trace small, aimless patterns over her back. He felt utterly at peace. An emotional state he’d never experienced before.

  “Don't stop,” she whispered against his chest, wriggling her shoulders under his caressing fingers.

  “Never,” he replied.

  “Good,” she murmured back, and he felt her smile.

  They lay, limbs entwined, hearts beating in harmony, for many minutes, and as each one passed Declan felt more and more calm. He gazed up at the black ceiling, listening to the sounds of nightlife beyond the room’s walls: people laughing, enjoying their existence. He smiled, letting his hands skim down the delectable curve of Regan’s waist to her hip. For the first time in his life, he understood what they felt. His existence had purpose now beyond death, beyond vengeance. Because of Regan.

  He let his eyelids flutter closed, opening his senses to her. Letting her fill him on every level.

  “Declan?”

  Her voice, soft and somehow hesitant, made him open his eyes and he tilted his head, looking down into her face. “Yes?”

  “Are werewolves like other members of the canine genus?”

  He frowned.

  “Do you rut with any bitch that catches your attention, or do you…” She trailed off and he heard the uncertainty in her voice.

  He gave her a slow grin. “For such an expert at animal behavior, you’re lousy at the human kind.” He ran his hand back up her body, drawing her closer to him, letting her look directly into his gaze. “No,” he answered. “When it comes to mating, werewolves are just like people. Some fuck around, some find their lifemate and never let them go.”

  She studied him intently, as though looking for—wanting—an answer she didn’t yet have. “Which type are you?” she whispered.

  He let his grin turn into a smile, reaching up with his free hand to tuck an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “The latter.”

  She gazed into his face for a moment, body still, expression revealing nothing, before rising up onto an elbow. She lowered her head, her lips brushing his in the softest of kisses. “Me too.”

  A chuckle rumbling up his throat, he wrapped his arms firmly around her body and flipped her to her back, catching her squeal of delighted shock with his mouth. He loomed over her, snaring each wrist, pinning her to the mattress with his hips, thighs and hands. He grinned at her, nestling his rapidly growing cock against the soft heat of her pussy. “You doubted me?” he growled, the sound coming out more like a laugh.

  Eyes twinkling with a devilish glint, she shook her head, rolling her hips under his. “A girl can’t be too careful. Especially one hopeless on human—”

  An explosive bang shattered the air and the door flung open, flooding the room with bright, glaring light.

  “Get off her, you bastard!”

  Declan flung his head to the side, just in time to see a hulking great man storming through the door. A man with light green eyes and dark brown hair. A man with fury in his stare and a Glock nine millimeter in his hand.

  “Peter!” Regan yelled, squirming in Declan’s hold. “Peter, it’s—”

  “Get off her now!” The man bellowed. Aiming the gun straight at Declan’s head.

  Chapter 12

  “Peter!” Regan shouted, struggling in Declan’s crushing hold. “Don’t! It’s—”

  But Peter’s stare was locked on Declan, and, dread cutting through her, she saw his trigger finger squeeze.

  “No!” a blonde woman in skin-tight denim jeans cried, suddenly charging through the door and leaping at Regan’s brother from behind. She shoved at his shoulder, sending him tumbling forward—the very second he fired his weapon.

  A deafening crack filled the air, and a split instant later something small and hot hit Regan in the shoulder. Slamming her backward to the mattress.

  “JESUS CHRIST! REGAN! NO!” Peter’s voice, horrified, punched at her ears.

  Hot pain ripped through her chest. Up her neck.

  “NO!” Declan screamed, staring down at her.

  Slow. Everything felt slow. Like some celestial power had decided to mess with time. She frowned up at him, confused. What was going on? Why was Peter screaming “no”? Why was Declan? Who was the blonde? “Declan?” she said, but her voice felt weak. Insubstantial. “Why does my shoulder hurt?”

  “Jesus,” he whispered, eyes wide. Wild. “Jesus, love. He shot you.” Fury fell over his face—cold and murderous—and those traumatized grey eyes changed. To the savage, silver eyes of the wolf. He swung his head to the side…

  …and time caught up.

  “You fucking bastard!” he roared.

  He leapt off her, and just as his words sank into Regan’s confusion, just as the pain in her shoulder erupted into unbearable agony, she saw him transform. One second a man, the next a wild, mammoth wolf.

  Lunging straight for her brother.

  The massive animal struck Peter in the chest, sending him reeling backward.

  “Declan, no!” she yelled, struggling to sit up. White pain exploded in her shoulder. Black stars exploded in her head. She cried out, dropping back to the mattress, bolts of agony tearing through her as she watched Declan—now more than a wolf, now something from a nightmare—snap at Peter’s neck with wickedly pointed teeth.

  Eyes bulging, Peter whipped his head away staggering under the weight of the attacking creature. His broad back smacked into the wall, his thick, muscled arms flailing wildly at Declan, barely deflecting his snapping muzzle and lashing claws. Her brother was huge—a childhood spent wrestling wayward bulls and cows, and an adulthood spent wrestling the scum of the city wouldn’t let him be any other way—but Declan, or the creature Declan had become was bigger. And more deadly.

  “Declan!” Regan pushed herself upright. Agony ripped through her. Bright red blood pumped from her shoulder, warm and wet. The sharp sting of copper bit at her sinuses, but she didn’t care. She had to stop her lover killing her brother. “Declan! Stop it!”

  The creature swung its head toward her, insane silver eyes shimmering for a second with confused lucidity.

  And Peter struck out. His booted foot landed in Declan’s gut with a whoosh and the werewolf stumbled backward, a growl of surprised anger bursting from its lathering muzzle. Its hackles rose, its clawed fingers curled into tight fists and it leapt forward again. Meeting Peter’s own attacking lunge in mid-air.

  Regan’s blood turned to ice. Oh, God. She had to stop this. She had to—

  Two strong hands curled around her wrists. “You are Peter’s sister, yes?”

  She snapped her head around, gazing at the worried blonde crouched beside her. “Who…” she began, tug
ging at the woman’s hold on her wrists. “How did you find…”

  The blonde’s attention flicked to Regan’s shoulder before returning to her face. “Your boyfriend, the vet.” Her fingernails dug deeper into Regan’s wrists, an ambiguous gleam in her blue eyes. “Lucky for Peter, he called.” She sprang into an alert stance, jerking painfully on Regan’s arms as she did so. She shot Declan and Peter a hurried glance. “You have to come with me.”

  Regan shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” She yanked her arms downward, but the blonde’s grip only grew tighter. “Let me go.” She glared at the woman. “What did you mean, lucky for Peter? Who are you?”

  “Run, Reggie!” Peter’s scream rose over Declan’s deafening growls, over the smashing of furniture. “Get away!”

  Regan tugged on the woman’s wrists, flinging her stare to her brother.

  Declan had him pinned to the wall, teeth-filled muzzle snapping at his face, claws tearing at his shoulders. “Declan! He’s my brother! Leave him alone!”

  “Reggie!” Peter roared back, drenched in sweat and blood, wild green stare fixed on the creature attacking him. “Get away! Get away NOW!”

  “Yes.” The blonde pulled at Regan’s wrists. “Come with me. Your brother wants you to.”

  Fury and fear pounded through her veins. “Let me go!” she snarled, twisting at her punishing grip. “Let me—” Suddenly cold realization hit her. She stared at the woman, every fiber of her being turning to ice. “You didn’t freak out when Declan transformed,” she whispered.

  Blood-red lips curled in a slow smile. “No,” she growled, eyes dilating. Changing. From blue to golden-amber. An animal’s eyes. A wolf’s eyes. “I didn’t.” With unnatural strength, she yanked Regan to her feet. “And whether you like it or not, you’re coming with me.”

  “Declan!” Regan screamed, heels scuffing the floor, seeking traction. “Peter!”

  “Go, Reggie!” Peter yelled back. Just as the creature—Declan—sank his claws into Peter’s shoulders and flung him across the room.

  The woman hauled on her wrists, pulled her off her feet. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  “Fuck off,” Regan snarled, and smashed her forehead into the blonde’s.

  Bright, white pain erupted in her head. Blinding stars burst before her eyes. She staggered backward, eyes closed, feeling like she’d run headfirst into a brick wall.

  The grip on her wrists squeezed tighter. “This is how you do it, human,” the blonde drawled, yanking Regan forward and slamming her forehead into the bridge of Regan’s nose.

  Agony detonated in her head. Consuming, absolute agony. The world turned to a thick, dark, silent fog and she slumped forward. Straight into the blonde’s snatching arms. A long, savage and blood-curdling howl filled her ears.

  Declan…

  Followed by a single shot from a gun.

  Peter…No…

  And then nothing.

  Only blackness.

  *

  Peter smashed into the wall. Blood streamed from a gash in his forehead, stinging his eyes. He stumbled to his feet, swiping at his face, desperate to clear his vision. The animal—the creature—circled him on long hind legs, wild silver stare boring into him like a drill, teeth dripping saliva. Its massive chest rose and fell, each breath it pulled forcing fresh blood from the wound high on its chest. But it didn’t seem to notice. Peter sucked in his own ragged breaths. Christ! He’d shot the fucking thing point-blank in its heart and nothing.

  His blood ran cold. Was this the man who’d abducted Reggie? This monster? He gripped his gun tighter. “What the fuck are you?”

  The creature bared its fangs and lunged.

  Peter dropped into a crouch just as the animal slammed into his bunched shoulder, sending him to the floor. He twisted, striking out at its soft underbelly with his heel, desperate to get back on his feet. The animal flipped in the air, landed on all fours and came at him again.

  He scrambled backward, staring at the creature through blood and sweat. It launched itself through the air, hideously clawed fingers sinking into his shoulders as it drove him to the ground. Claws like steel punctured his flesh, stabbed into his muscle. He bucked, thrashing under the thing’s massive weight, tearing pain ripping through him. Fuck! He had to get it off.

  Wicked teeth snapped at his face and he flinched, hot saliva splattering his cheek. His blood pumped from the holes in his shoulder, the wound on his forehead. He gazed up at the creature through a translucent crimson curtain. He’d fought with some mean bastards before—both in training and on the job, but nothing like this. Currents of agony tore through his arms but he continued to fight. He had to get the thing off him.

  He writhed underneath it, striking out with his foot, his knee. Each made connection, but the animal didn’t budge. Jesus, was it real? He shoved at its chest, his palms mashing against muscle that felt like hot steel covered in fur. If he could get his gun to its head…If he could just blow the fucker’s brain out.

  He moved his arm a fraction. And stopped the second pointed teeth almost tore a chunk of his face out. Fuck. It was no use. It was only by sheer muscle and frantic determination he kept the animal from tearing out his throat. How the hell was he to move enough to shoot the thing in the head?

  Energy poured from him in draining, depleting waves. Joining his blood in its exodus of his body. He tossed his head to the side, desperate to see if his partner had dragged his sister from the room. A flash of blonde running through the door made his heart burst with relief. “Run, Yolanda! Get her away!”

  The creature froze above him, its silver stare locked on his, burning with hate. Peter tensed. Christ, I’m dead. The wild eyes grew wider, and suddenly a slight shudder rippled through its form.

  The hideous, elongated limbs shivered, the fur covered muscles rippled again, and then it was a man staring down at him. Not a monster but a man, dripping in sweat and blood, fingers digging painfully into Peter’s arms, knees ramming into his thigh and hip. The very man who’d been lying on the bed with Reggie, pinning her to the mattress. “Yolanda?” he snarled, the sound animalistic.

  Peter gazed up at him, incapable of speech. Incapable of anything, in fact.

  “Yolanda?” The man growled again, more human this time.

  Peter started. Did he just hear a soft Irish accent cutting through the growl? The same Irish accent haunting him for the last nineteen hours?

  Strong fingers dug into Peter’s shoulders. “Damn it, man. Did you say Yolanda?”

  “O’Connell?” The name fell from Peter’s lips. The accent. The name. “You’re O’Connell, aren’t you!”

  The man leapt to his feet, fluid and fast. He flung his gaze around the room, dragging trembling, bloody hands through tangled black hair. “Shit. They’re not here!”

  Peter climbed to his own feet, staring at the naked man. He raised his gun. Pointed it at the man’s bare chest. “Tell me who the fuck you are now!”

  “Look around you, Peter,” the man snapped, ignoring his order. “Your sister. She’s gone.”

  Peter closed his finger firmer on his trigger. “Good. At least she’s safe from you.”

  Those grey eyes turned cold. “But not from your partner.”

  “What do you mean, my partner?”

  “The blonde. Slight German accent? How long she been your partner for?”

  Peter’s chest tightened. “Why?”

  “She’s a plant. I’m guessing she’s been playing you from the start.” O’Connell stepped forward, completely mindless of the fact he had a blood-oozing bullet wound in his chest and a loaded Glock aimed straight at it. “Yolanda Vischka works for the very man I’ve been trying to save your sister from!”

  Peter’s mouth turned dry. He shoved the Glock’s barrel harder to the man’s chest, punching the raw flesh of the wound with its metal tip. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  O’Connell’s lip curled and his grey stare flicked over Peter’s body. “I can smell her on you
. She’s marked you as her own. She’s touched you just about everywhere.”

  Peter’s eyes widened and he bit back a curse, blistering guilt surging into his gut. Christ. How did the man know? Another surge of guilt crashed over him and he choked back a groan. What had he been doing all day? Trying to find his sister, or letting a woman he barely knew control his actions? His heart squeezed, as if a force stronger than the creature he’d fought was trying to rip it from his chest. “What the fuck are you?”

  Hand a blur, O’Connell snatched Peter’s gun from his grip before he could react. “The same kind of monster after Regan. A werewolf.” His stare turned dark. Dangerous. “And if I don’t go after her now, Nathan Epoc will kill her before you can draw her face into your mind.”

  Peter stood, frozen. For exactly one second.

  He spun on his heel and sprinted across the room, heading for the door.

  A dark blur whipped over his head, a gush of displaced air sucked at the hair on his crown and suddenly O’Connell stood between Peter and the door, snatching his arm in a brutal, inescapable grip. “No. You haven’t a hope. Only I can take Epoc out.”

  Peter glared at him, tugging against his hold. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

  O’Connell’s eyes flashed silver. “Don’t be an idiot. I almost killed you.”

  “Get. The fuck. Out of my way.”

  Those eyes shimmered silver again before, hands raised to his shoulders in a display of surrender, his right still gripping Peter’s gun, O’Connell stepped aside.

  Peter tore through Rick’s house, his chest growing tighter with each pounding step. Fuck! Reggie? Yolanda? Every second of the day ripped through his head in multi-colored, sickening detail. Yolanda’s arrival, her seduction, her supposed vulnerability, his stupid, stupid capitulation to the power she held over his body, his hungry longing for every inch of her, despite his suspicions.

  He’d thought there was something wrong about her from the beginning, but his growing desire for her had taken control. Lust and his desperate desire for her to be something she clearly wasn’t. Bloody hell! Could he be that stupid? That lonely?